


A Meeting of Like Souls, or In Which Rose Lalonde Realizes the Full Extend of Her Brother's Haplessness

by Sermna



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Post-Scratch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermna/pseuds/Sermna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, he doesn't remember you. Not in this universe, at least. It’s a cheery place, a suburbia, the pacifier given to a child to make them forget they had been hit earlier. The game thinks that your time is over and that it’s the new generation’s time to shine. This worked for John Egbert, and Dave Strider, and even the all-knowing Jade Harley.</p><p>But Rose Lalonde is not one to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meeting of Like Souls, or In Which Rose Lalonde Realizes the Full Extend of Her Brother's Haplessness

You located them all quickly enough, exactly where they’d always been. John is a comedian living in Washington, you’ve seen some of his tapes and they’re surprisingly hard-edged, based on deconstruction of modern media. People love him. He was first on your ‘to see’ list, but money is a little hard to scrounge up when you haven’t got a job or a friend or even enough to get your hand-scripted novel published. Your large house was inherited and rarely has water or electricity.  
Dave was a fluke, though. Young, the same age as you, and steadily tearing his way through Dallas with his enigmatic work. It’s exactly what you expected, really, and you were delighted to learn he would be coming to New York soon to give a few interviews. He’ a small name, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until someone noticed his incomprehensible (and thus highly desirable) humor and take him to the big time. You knew this might be your only chance to see him.  
And so, on the morning of July 25, you find yourself sitting next to the brother you have not been able to see in twenty one years.

He accepts your cigarette with what you can only assume is a misplaced fit of trust. He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but you can almost feel his gaze on you while you light your own. You allow him a few more moments of observation, at the end of which you stare him straight in the eyes. He flinches a little, perhaps surprised that you located them behind the shades, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. You tug one corner of your mouth up, and even though you were shooting for ‘smirk’ you must have too much fondness in your eyes because he almost smiles back. You expel a cloud of lilac smoke.

“So,” he says, and his ‘o’s are just as long as you remember.

“So what?”  


“Look, don’t get me wrong, I am all over the idea of cute blonde girls talking to me- uh” he tilts his shoulders a little, a tiny involuntary twitch, “I mean. Not like I’m hitting on you or anything. Shit’s creepy. We don’t need no sketchy-ass twenty year olds sniffing around like something smells like-”  


“Are you going somewhere with this?” You knows he’s not, he never is. He flushes an almost imperceptible shade of pink.  


“Uh, no.”  


He has yet to touch the cigarette, and you watch in faint annoyance as it burns away.  


“Should I be worried?” He’s staring somewhere around your shoulder, not really looking at you, his hair white in the sun. He doesn’t sound worried, but that doesn’t mean anything. Dave never sounds like anything, really, when he’s being careful.  


“Nah,” you flick away some ashes. “Unless, of course, you consider strange women to be a danger, in which case- yes, you may need to be a little worried. Not that that will mean much. It won’t do anything except make you feel a little better.”  


He smirks. “Aw no, chicks are only a danger when they’re like you and start flapping their perfumey mouths, and suddenly you’re talking about, I don’t know, homoerotic projections.”  


“I haven’t said a word about any possible homosexuality on your part, nor any feelings or insecurities you may or may not be projecting, but if that’s what you’re interested in I’ll happily oblige.”  


He laughs, a short burst of humor that you’re happy to hear. He looks at you, and the faint anxiety is gone from his eyes. He throws the spent cigarette butt into the fountain you’re sitting by.  


“Littering is a crime,” you inform him, and he smiles again.  


“You sound like someone I used to know.”  


“Really?”  


“Yeah, hell. She was the pointiest thing, like a little cactus that wanted to simultaneously snuggle you and stab you in the stomach. I used to make fun of her pointy tee-” He stops, dead.

A second ticks by.

“I, uh. I used to make fun of her.”  


You decide to play this one off.  


“You shouldn’t make fun of people,” you say. “Even if they are pointy.”  


He squints at you, then shakes his head.  


“Guess you’re right.” ** **  
****

It’s weird, watching him almost remember- it’s like he’s doing his best not to. Part of you wants to lay off, leave him alone, allow him to be content with the life he’s got, but you know that Dave- your Dave- would hate you if you did that to him. So you continue.

“Oh hey- do you know about Egbert? John Egbert?”

He twitches an eyebrow, a move so familiar you smile again.  


“You mean the comedian?”  


“Naturally.”  


“Uh, no offense- Rose? Right? No offense, but that was a really weird and sudden thing to ask.”  


“Uh, no offense, Dave, but it was also weird and sudden for me to sit down and offer you an, um, cigarette, so I think you might need to, uh, take a look at the big picture here.” You watch happily as the imperceptible pink changes to red as you make fun of his speech. He’s always hated that.  


“Wow, fuck you. I don’t even smoke.” He eyes you like you might punch him for saying so, but you just laugh.  


“I know.”  


He stands up. It’s a tense, almost unconscious action. You remember the movement from the game, when he would get going on a really good train of thought. Not, of course, that anyone could actually hear what he was saying.

“See? You keep saying shit like that. Like, your my Auntie Hilda coming for a visit, ‘hey, I know everything about you, you don’t recognize me, turns out your mom hates me- hey, climb in this bag, won’t you?’” His eyebrows finally come down, and he stares at you. “Are you going to give me a red or blue pill? Pull a Matrix? I’m not Captor, Lalonde-”

He falters a little, shakes his head.

“Fuck.”

You smile. “Yes?”

He shoots you a glare.

 _“The game_ ,” he says.

“What about it?”

“That was a thing that happened.”

“Sure was.”

“We’re going to be getting two little shits, aren’t we?”

“Eventually, I suppose.”

He shakes his head again.

“I’m going to name mine Dorito.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little sloppy, too fast  
> Maybe I should expand it?  
> idk


End file.
